


Music For The Soul

by DiefaceJohnson



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sam Wilson, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Music, Voyeurism, surprise there's smut now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiefaceJohnson/pseuds/DiefaceJohnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times that people get an inside peek at Sam and Steve's relationship through music and one time that someone sees more than they bargained for (though they're certainly not complaining).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bucky

Bucky is in his bedroom reading when he hears the music start up in the living room. He immediately snaps the book shut and pads down the hallway on bare feet before reaching the kitchen and pulling himself up onto the counter. It’s where he always sits while Sam and Steve make dinner. At first he’d been met with exasperation from the other two men, Sam complaining “It is going to be like twice as difficult to make this meal if we have to move around your _ass,_ Bucky,” but by their fourth time preparing dinner with Bucky sitting steadfastly in the same spot they’d accepted it and started piling ingredients in his lap to make up for the lost counter space.

Today Bucky gets a lap full of fresh vegetables, the bags indicating that they were purchased at the farmer’s market which had opened up down the street a couple of days ago. Which means that Steve checked it out without him. He tries to show his disappointment with a look in Steve’s direction, but he’s still pretty bad at showing emotions other than boredom and he figures Steve misses the expression between peeks out of the refrigerator. When Bucky looks over at Sam where he stands beside the stove, though, the man says quietly, “We’ll head over there tomorrow, just the two of us. Pick up the stuff for tomorrow’s dinner.” Sam has always been good at reading Bucky’s face. Bucky nods.

He turns his attention to the music after Sam smiles and turns back to setting out the pots and pans needed for tonight’s meal. Bucky recognizes the track, a song called Ffun, by Con Funk Shun. It’s one of Sam’s favorites, a happy song that he’d played for Steve and Bucky in the name of their “cultural enrichment” after he learned neither of them knew what Funk was. Bucky still prefers Swing, but he likes the song, and he subtly bobs his head along to the bass guitar. Sam and Steve, however, begin to dance, full-out as they work on the meal.

They sing along and repeatedly catch each other’s eyes as Steve chops vegetables and Sam sets water to boiling for pasta. They constantly wiggle their hips and nod their heads as well. Bucky enjoys watching them, but he’s never been moved to join in beyond his quiet head movements. Though Sam and Steve generally operate on opposite sides of the kitchen, Steve to his right and Sam to his left, they still seem to act in sync, passing dishes and ingredients back and forth across Bucky’s lap and trading off lines of the song as if it’s been rehearsed.

“I want to thank you for your love so true,” Sam sings on the second repetition.

Steve continues, “Your tender loving keeps my mind on you.”

Bucky watches and listens and wonders, as Steve and Sam continue on like that, singing and laughing and bouncing around, how spending time with these silly, oblivious men could be the first thing in nearly a century to make him happy inside.

He almost smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, so I haven't written in months and I'm trying to ease myself back in by writing for a new fandom and keeping it relatively short. If everything goes on schedule I'll be able to upload another chapter soon. Hopefully you'll like the story!


	2. Thor

 It is late in the afternoon that Thor squeezes into the elevator on the training level of Stark Tower with Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, with the intent of returning to the Captain’s apartment to cool down for a while. The elevator is by no means small, but Thor is both tall and broad, and neither Sam nor Steve is slight of stature either. They try to stand side by side, but their shoulders will not allow it, so Sam extricates himself from the middle and stands with his back to the doors, facing the other two men.

He is still breathing heavily and Thor smiles because he had hardly put any of his strength into their sparring match, opting to save it for when he faced Rogers who could more readily handle the blows an Asgardian can deliver.

“Whatcha smilin’ at?” Sam asks. He merely shakes his head and grins a little wider, though, so Sam just shrugs and says, “I don’t know about you fellas, but I’m starving right about now. I could whip up a few sandwiches in a jiff, if you guys want?”

“T’would be a fitting repast after such a workout,” Thor tells him. He is quite hungry, now that Sam has mentioned it.

The doors open and the three men step off of the elevator and kick their shoes off.  While Sam heads straight for the kitchenette, Thor follows Steve into the living room, collapsing beside him onto the couch. Cleanliness is not of high priority on Asgard, but Midgardians tend to rankle easily when their belongings are soiled so Thor half expects to be told off for pressing his sweat-soaked back into the back of the linen upholstered couch, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind when he looks over at him.

“How many sandwiches should I be making?” Sam’s voice calls from the kitchen.

After a slight pause, Steve yells over the back of the couch, “Well, I could eat a horse right now, and Thor could probably eat three, so…we need a barn’s worth.”  At the mention of horses, Thor does his duty as an elder brother and loudly launches into the tale of his brother Loki’s equine tryst, infamous on Asgard and, sadly, scarcely known on Earth. Thor takes every opportunity to fix this disparity, preferring to remember the times when his brother’s mischief had been just that, not deadly.

Steve stares at him with a disturbed expression as he regales them, and by the time he has finished Sam is returning from the kitchen, rounding the arm of the couch with a platter heavily laden with ham and cheese sandwiches. Deli-cut meat is one of Thor’s favorite inventions of this dimension. “So you’re telling us that your nephew is a six-legged horse?” Sam asks as he sets the platter on the coffee table.

“Aye,” Thor replies, “And Sleipnir is a fine steed!”

As Sam takes his seat beside Thor, the both of them reaching for sandwiches from the platter, Steve stands and walks over to the large wooden box against the far wall of Steve’s apartment. The first time Steve had used the machine, Thor had been amazed that the contraption, called a record player, could make music simply by running a needle across the shining black discs which were placed on it. As it is, he still watches with interest as Steve browses through the record sleeves in his collection and selects one, pulling the disc from its sleeve and gently placing in in the record player before setting the needle onto its surface. Music begins to infuse the room and Steve turns to walk back to the couch.

“Ooh, a little Marvin?” Sam asks, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Well, he _is_ my favorite,” Steve replies with a smile of his own. As he walks away from the player, a man’s sweet voice sings:

 _Mother, mother_  
There's too many of you crying  
Brother, brother, brother  
There's far too many of you dying  
You know we've got to find a way  
To bring some lovin' here today

The words hit Thor far too close to home, calling to mind images of Frigga and Loki as he had last seen them. He fights off the emotions, unwelcome on an afternoon such as this. He lets the somber tune pass over him without further examining it and turns his attention to the other two men here with him, reminding himself that those wounds belong to a world far away. As soon as Steve had seated himself, Sam had turned on the couch, kicking his feet up so his calves lay across Steve’s lap, and pressing his still-damp back into Thor’s equally sweaty side. Steve tries to protest, but Sam tells him, “Man, I just made, like, 20 sandwiches for you guys and I’m only gonna be eating 2 of them. I deserve a damn foot rest,” around a mouthful of bread and ham. Steve rolls his eyes at that but stops trying to shove Sam’s legs away and silently reaches for a sandwich of his own.

They eat in silence for a while, but then Sam begins to wiggle his toes in time to the music and Steve is complaining about losing his appetite because of Sam’s “nasty toe dance” but Thor watches as he picks up his fourth sandwich in as many minutes and starts in on it anyway. Steve likes to call all of them, the Avengers, brothers in arms. Thor inhales his sixth sandwich and thinks that he is content to train and fight beside these men, as close to brethren as he has got in this dimension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't my favorite chapter, but I couldn't quite work it to where I liked it and I needed to get it up. The next chapter should be up in the next couple of days, though, and it's going a lot better for me. Sorry that I'm bad at writing Thor :/


	3. Tony

"How can you sit there and blaspheme like that with a straight face?” Tony demands, straightening from the project on his workbench to glare at one Samuel T. Wilson, codename: Falcon. Wilson is perched on the edge of a metal stool, grinning cool as a cucumber as he spouts complete filth.

“I’m not saying that Zeppelin I isn’t a great album,” he says in an infuriatingly placating tone. “I’m just saying that Zeppelin II is better.” He shrugs, as if it’s a simple statement, but it totally is not.

Tony turns his eyes back to the metallic wings sitting in front of him. The only real reason Wilson is in his workshop is that his wings had gotten badly bent during the day’s skirmish (the incident also earning him a shoulder injury, if the bandage wrap visible under his left shirt sleeve is any indication) and Tony is the nearest engineer with the skill to put them back in working order. Whenever his wings needed tending, Sam always came down to the workshop and talked with Tony during the repairs. It’s not common, even among the close-knit circle of the Avengers, for someone to feel comfortable enough to come into Tony’s workspace and just…hang out. Only Bruce and Rhodey, really. Tony is usually glad of the company, but now he is seriously considering kicking the blasphemous young man out of his shop.

He says, “Zeppelin I was a work of art that set the tone for the band’s entire career. Good Times Bad Times? Dazed and Confused? Classics of the genre!”

“I’m not arguin’ you there,” Wilson replies, calm as ever, “but side one of Zeppelin II alone is enough to trump Zeppelin I. I mean, it’s got two of the sexiest songs they’ve ever put out in The Lemon Song and Whole Lotta Love, and I could honestly listen to What Is and What Should Never Be every day for the rest of my life and be happy.” And when he puts it like that, Tony can kind of understand the argument. He’s not going to tell Wilson that, of course, but based on the smug expression Tony sees when he looks up at the ex-pararescuer, his face has already given his concession away.

He’s just opened his mouth to give some half-assed response about respecting the sanctity of a band’s debut album when he is interrupted by the appearance of Captain Rogers in his workshop.

The good Captain makes a beeline for Sam where he sits on the stool and does his best impression of a neglected puppy. “Hey Sam, come watch Stripes with me again,” he requests. “I’m bored.”

Sam heaves a sigh and tells the blond, “I’ve seen Stripes a million times already. Why don’t you ask Tasha to watch it with you?”

“Yeah,” Tony intones, “Why don’t you ask Tasha to watch it with you? Mr. Wilson and I happen to be in the middle of a very important intellectual debate.”

Steve screws up his face and says “Last I saw Nat, she was heading down to Bruce’s lab to drag him out for lunch, so that’s a no-go. And from what I heard you guys were just arguing about some lame band or another. Hardly intellectual.”

Sam and Tony emit identical gasps of shock and Rogers’s eyes ping back and forth between them confusedly. “I take back my earlier comment, Wilson,” Tony says, eyes still on Steve. “ _That_ was blasphemy of the highest order.” Rogers rolls his eyes and Tony continues, “Are you sure you want to go on playing second fiddle to a man who doesn’t appreciate Zeppelin? Because if not, I could always scrap these wings and outfit you with something a little more…armored.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Wilson for good measure, because every good seduction needed eyebrow wiggling. Tony likes Sam Wilson, and he kind of wants to keep him. Especially if it means taking him out from under Rogers.

Sam looks thoughtful for a second, during which Steve shoots him a disbelieving look, and then he says to Tony, “Nah, I think the wings work for me. Birds are kinda my thing.”

“Don’t let Clint hear you say that,” Tony laughs, “he thinks he’s got a corner on the bird market.” The two of them chuckle for a moment before Steve interrupts.

“ _Birds are kinda my thing?_ That’s your only reason for not becoming Iron Man Junior. Really. It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re already my wingman.” Tony doesn’t think he’s ever seen Steve jealous before. He didn’t even think he could become jealous, actually.

Sam turns his easy smile on Steve and tells him, “One: I would never go by Iron Man Junior, I’ve got some dignity. Two: being your wingman is what landed me with a twisted wing and a wrenched shoulder in the first place. Maybe if I did take a suit I wouldn’t have such a hard time catching your big butt every time you jump off of something over fifty feet in the air.” Despite his teasing words, Tony reads nothing but affection in Wilson’s features. It’s disconcerting, like looking in on his and Rhodey’s relationship from the outside. He’d inspired that look of fond tolerance more times than he could count.

Rogers slaps on a put out expression and says, “That’s fine, you don’t _have_ to catch me all the time. If you don’t want to superhero with me I can always just get out of your way, change my name to Captain Australia or something. I’m sure I could find some strapping young pararescuer there who’d be happy to save my big butt…”

“You could become Captain _Antarctica_ and I’d still be your wingman,” Sam says, sincerely. “You know what I always say…”

Steve grins and sighs like he already knows what is coming, and then Wilson honest to god begins to sing, “You can change your telephone number, and you can change your address too, but you can’t stop me from loving you. No, you can’t change that!” [Raydio](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=4kxpsvW2gAE). Really.

Steve blushes and lightly punches Sam in the shoulder before he can continue, and even Tony would find the moment cute except that light punches from Steve are still pretty hard and he’d managed to hit Wilson on his bad shoulder. Wilson is knocked from his perch on the stool, but Rogers immediately surges forward and catches him with strong arms before he can hit the floor.

Tony takes stock: based on Natasha’s account, Rogers and Wilson had had a real life meet cute; they apparently regularly serenade each other with cheesy 70’s love songs; Rogers is _still_ cradling Sam in a very arm-bulgy embrace…Tony can’t keep Sam Wilson, he’s already a kept man.

Pity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "You Can't Change That" by Raydio, and it's cheesy to the max. I love it.


	4. Clint

Clint’s favorite thing about living in Stark Tower with most of the other Avengers is the big dinners. Not the ones where they all pull up chairs at the long dining room table on the penthouse floor and eat food that was cooked in Tony’s kitchen (usually by Bruce) and politely compliment the chef as they systematically clean their plates. They have _those_ big dinners often enough, and it’s nice to pretend they’re all normal socializing adults every once in a while, but those aren’t Clint’s favorites.

Clint loves the nights like tonight when they’ll all happen to converge on Tony’s floor in the mood for some company. They’ll have JARVIS call up one of their favorite restaurants and order 3 servings of everything on the menu, and then they’ll eat it haphazardly, strewn about in the ample space of Tony’s living room.

Tonight it’s Chinese food.  Everyone is feeling talkative, so they’ve decided to forego the usual movie and just eat together, four or five small conversations going on amongst the group at any given time. Clint loves to talk, but not when he could better use his mouth to eat, so he wordlessly stuffs his face with egg rolls and takes in the conversations around him.

Bruce and Pepper are sharing the loveseat, Tony seated between them on the floor, Pepper’s fingers carding absently through his hair. The two scientists are discussing the feasibility of using arc reactor technology to provide sustainable energy to third world countries, with Pepper periodically piping in with suggestions on the business implications.

Natasha is leaning against Clint where he sits at the end of the couch. Sam is on the other side of the couch with Nat’s little feet tucked up under his butt for warmth. Clint had been surprised when he’d come back to New York and found Natasha fairly draping herself over Sam Wilson at every turn, but apparently the man’s as trustworthy as the bible and friendlier than anyone who’s seen the things detailed in his file has the right to be, so Clint had accepted it and moved on. Nat is speaking to Bucky, who sits cross-legged on the floor, the two of them speaking in fluent Russian so that Clint can only barely glean that they’re talking about some artist or another.

Sam and Steve are animatedly discussing some MMA fights they’d watched earlier on TV. Clint worries, momentarily, that the two of them might be getting ideas about starting a superhero fight club. He doesn’t think even the great Tony Stark could build an octagon big or strong enough to handle a Hulk vs. Thor deathmatch.

Time passes and the conversations shift from person to person until, finally, the food is gone and everyone involved has grown a little somnolent from their full stomachs. Never one to allow an evening to wind down gracefully, Tony stands from his prone position beside the loveseat and asks JARVIS to put on some music.

“Any particular kind of music, sir?” the AI asks, thoughtful as ever.

“Something we can dance to,” Tony tells him. Almost immediately, the sounds of a horn section fill the room as JARVIS begins to play Al Green’s Let’s Stay Together, of all things. Tony shakes his head fondly and says, “Not quite what I had in mind, but J has always preferred the partner dances.”

JARVIS replies, “I am, as you would say, guilty as charged, sir.” They all chuckle as Tony tugs Pepper up off of the loveseat and pulls her close, the two of them moving to the open floor to sway to the music.

Moments later, Bruce rises and approaches the couch, a blush blooming on his tan skin even as he offers Natasha his hand. She takes it and smiles, allowing him to lead her toward where Tony and Pepper are dancing. Clint half expects Nat to lead, but she just steps into Bruce’s hold and rests her head on his chest. Clint is proud.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Sam stands and drags a red-faced Steve out of his chair and over to the others. Everyone laughs lightheartedly at Steve’s discomfort for a few moments, and his cheeks are fairly glowing but Sam is holding him unapologetically close. After a while, though, the other two couples drift back into their own little worlds and Clint is the only one left paying attention to the two men who are now standing chest-to-chest and slowly shuffling from side to side.

Steve’s reluctance had faded with the interest of the others and now he is looking at Sam with something like wonder in his eyes, his mouth curved up in a slight smile. Sam returns the look twofold. Clint notices that Sam’s mouth is moving, minute partings of his lips that you’d miss if you weren’t paying attention. He realizes that Sam is silently mouthing the lyrics to the song, the movements so small Clint doubts he even knows he’s doing it.

_Let me say that since, baby_   
_Since we've been together_   
_Loving you forever_   
_Is what I need_   
_Let me be the one you come running to..._

Clint smirks and makes a small noise of understanding. “I like to watch them dance, too,” a low voice tells him. Clint jumps a fraction at Bucky’s statement; he’d forgotten that he was down there. Clint looks down at his folded form beside the couch. He’s watching the couple with his head tilted to the side. After a handful of silent moments, Bucky continues, “It usually involves more…bouncing. And wiggling.” He looks fond at the memory, an expression that doesn’t look at home on Bucky’s face. “I think they should dance like this more often,” he finishes. And then he smiles, a small, quick, warm thing that Clint wouldn’t believe had crossed his face if he weren’t seeing it with his own eyes.

In a minute the song ends and everyone breaks apart to bop around independently when a more upbeat track comes on to replace it. The oddly heavy atmosphere that had settled over the room dissolves as well. Bucky just sits and watches, like he always does. Clint hops up off of the couch and goes over to the others, hip bumping with Natasha and cabbage-patching and raising the roof because _someone_ has to dance like the white dad around here. Clint gets so into it that he almost doesn’t notice the way Steve keeps sneaking dopey-eyed glances at Sam every few seconds. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the positive comments, guys. If you ever want to fangirl with me over these cuties or (even better) prompt me, feel free to send me a message over on my tumblr (scottygirl.tumblr.com).


	5. Bruce

_“In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart, or oh so pleasant,”_ the soft-spoken man on the drop down screen says _. “Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You may quote me._ ” Bruce makes a mental note to go back and watch the film—an old black and white called _Harvey_ —again another time when he can really take it in. As it is he’s working with a brain at half capacity, and while the movie’s made an impression, he’s had a hard time following the plot. The fact that he’s been drifting in and out of sleep a lot of the time may also have something to do with it.

It’s relatively late, around eleven o’clock, and the small group of superheroes—Natasha, himself, Steve, and Sam—have been watching movies, curled up in their pajamas on the furniture in the living room of the apartment Sam, Steve, and Bucky share. Bucky had tapped out after the first film had ended, leaving Sam alone with Steve on the couch and Bruce on the loveseat with Nat. They’d all fought in a battle that day that had taken a lot out of everyone, so the others appear to be almost as tired as he is. Bruce knows that everyone is a little on edge from worrying all afternoon as well.

They’d faced a large faction of angry mutants that day in Chicago, and the team had gotten beat pretty bad before JARVIS was able to identify the mutants’ powers and weaknesses to give the team an upper hand. Tony had taken the worst hit toward the end of the battle. Bruce could only remember snippets of the fighting, but he’d been filled in on the major events after he’d taken back over for the other guy. Tony and Sam had been flying a sweep of the downtown area to find any stragglers when a telekinetic mutant hidden in one of the city’s skyscrapers targeted Tony. She’d reached out and taken hold of him, crushing the Iron Man suit from the outside like a soda can, and then yanked him from the sky. The suit weighs a ton, so even though Sam had tried to catch him he hadn’t been able to do much more than slow Tony’s fall.

Apparently he’d hit the ground hard enough to leave a small crater in the Magnificent Mile. Tony had had to be extricated from the suit mechanically because the releases built into the suit had been damaged too badly, and once they got him to a hospital they learned that he’d sustained a concussion and had multiple fractured ribs from the crushed suit. It could have been so much worse, but Bruce still felt pangs of guilt for Hulk when he thought about it. The behemoth was incredibly protective of the avengers now, and he regretted not being near enough to catch Tony when he fell.

Oddly enough, the one who seemed the most shaken by Tony’s fall and subsequent hospitalization had been Sam. Not that Sam wasn’t a supremely compassionate man—he was one of the most understanding people Bruce had come to know in his post-hulk life—but he’d been a member of the team for far less time than the rest of them. And still he’d been going about his actions in an oddly spaced out manner since the battle that wasn’t like Sam at all. Bruce had scarcely seen his somber expression change in the hours since he’d woken up.

“Why are you staring at Sam?” Natasha asks, quietly. Bruce didn’t even notice that he _was_ staring. He doesn’t want to call any unnecessary attention to Sam’s state of mind because it really isn’t his business, but it’s not likely that Nat will drop it now that she’s seen him staring. Bruce should just be grateful the other two men hadn’t noticed his lack of tact.

He shrugs and gets a side-eye from Natasha for jostling her head where it rests on his shoulder. “I’m just…concerned,” he whispers. “He hasn’t seemed very present since the fighting today.” His eyes shift over to Sam again because, contrary to popular belief, Bruce apparently has weak self-control. Sam has his feet up on the couch, curled up in a ball against Steve’s side. He just looks so _sad._ Natasha follows his gaze and lets a small frown settle on her face.

“Did you ever read Wilson’s file?” she asks in a sleepy voice. Bruce shakes his head no. He’d been tempted to—he still has trouble trusting military types—but he had decided not to; he’d learned that trust was an important thing to cultivate on this team. Nat almost looks pleased by this. She tells him, “If you had, you would know that Sam used to be part of a set. The Exo-7 program had two participants—Sam (he was the Falcon then, too) and his partner, Riley: codename Redwing. They were incredibly close.” Her use of the past tense isn’t lost on Bruce, so he isn’t surprised when she continues, “Riley was shot out of the sky on a mission a few years back, and Sam…” She trails off because she knows that Bruce can connect the dots.

“Sam had a front row seat,” he fills in, “just like he did today with Tony.” Natasha gives a tiny affirmative nod. He feels a fresh wave of sympathy on the heels of his new understanding. Bruce is no stranger to the struggles of dealing with PTSD; he can only imagine where Sam’s head is right now.

While he and Natasha had been talking in hushed voices, the movie had come to an end. When the credits stop rolling, Steve addresses JARVIS, saying, “Stream _Bringing up Baby_ , please.” Steve has been in charge of movie selection the whole night.

“Certainly, Captain Rogers,” the AI replies. When the new film starts up, Bruce recognizes it, another classic black and white flick, this one starring Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn. It’s a good film, but they’re all so far gone that staying up to see it through is a lost cause. Nat is the first to fall asleep, the presses of her side against Bruce’s with each breath becoming more expansive and coming further apart. It’s the deep kind of sleep she doesn’t allow herself to get when she’s got her guard up, the kind where she might end up snoring and will definitely end up drooling on his arm at some point. Bruce always feels a little honored when she allows herself to sleep like this with him, not matter how many times she’s trusted him enough to do so. This time he’s also pleasantly surprised that she’s comfortable enough to let go of control like that around Steve and Sam. The three of them had become very close during the whole Hydra ordeal and the aftermath, probably closer than Bruce had realized.

On the other couch, Sam has also fallen asleep. Bruce hadn’t known that a guy so bulky could make himself so small, but there Sam is with his knees up against his chest, arms around Steve’s middle. His feet, in fluffy white socks, are tucked under Steve’s thigh and his head is pillowed on the other man’s pec. Steve’s got an arm around Sam’s broad shoulders, pulling him in tight. Bruce thinks that Sam is lucky to have a best friend like Steve. Dealing with emotions like these, a person needs a rock, and Steve is one of the most solid people Bruce has ever known.

Bruce turns his attention back to the film only to find himself drifting just after Baby is introduced. He falls asleep with the melody of I Can’t Give You Anything But Love playing in his ears.

* * *

When Bruce slowly awakens later, it’s to a different tune. Confused, he cracks his eyes open. The room is mostly dark, the film having gone off and the only light being the glow of the neighboring buildings coming in through the tower’s floor-to-ceiling windows. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust (and a little longer for his brain to catch up) before he realizes that the soft sound is coming from Steve.

Cap is still wide awake. Sam must have shifted positions in his sleep, because he is now lying down on the couch. His head rests on Steve’s lap and Steve’s pale fingers scratch gentle patterns in the short curls on Sam’s scalp. Lulled by Steve’s fingers and the soft tune coming from his mouth, Sam’s face is more relaxed in sleep now than it had been all day. 

Steve is singing to the other man, the words flowing quietly from his lips almost-but-not-quite too soft to hear. Bruce listens carefully as Steve’s hushed words continue. “Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling so it goes. Some things are meant to be.” Steve takes a moment to smile down at the man on his lap, and then continues. “Take my hand. Take my whole life, too…for I can’t help falling in love with you…”

Nat stirs against Bruce’s shoulder, shifting in her sleep, and Bruce snaps out of his trancelike observation of the other men. He suddenly feels very guilty for remaining still, essentially feigning sleep to watch the tender moment before him. Bruce shuts his eyes again and makes a bit of a show of “awakening,” taking a deep breath and blinking blearily at darkness his eyes have already adjusted to, giving Steve a chance to realize he’s got waking company. He stretches his back and Natasha groans beside him in protest at all of the movement.  “Sorry,” he whispers into her hair. He gently nudges her off of his side so that he can stand.

“You gonna try to wake the Russian bear?” Steve asks in a whisper from the couch.

Bruce smiles but shakes his head. “I can only think of one thing worse than waking this bear from hibernation, and that’s telling her that we referred to her as a Russian bear.” Steve puffs a little laugh. His fingers are still lazily massaging Sam’s head in his lap. Bruce gathers Natasha in his arms with a small degree of difficulty—he’s not a large man and Natasha, while small, is 90% dense muscle—and shuffles off toward the elevator after trying to say a goodnight to Steve. He gets a mouthful of scarlet hair for his trouble, and settles on exchanging a nod instead.

He can’t push the button to go down because his arms are full, but JARVIS is always waiting to lend a hand, so to speak, and the elevator opens for him almost as soon as he comes to stand before it. He spares a last glance backward before boarding, and, as he suspected, Steve has already returned to gazing down at Sam’s sleeping face. Bruce thinks that he hears Steve’s soft singing voice again as the doors shut, but that may be his imagination.

Unbidden, the elevator begins the descent to Bruce’s personal floor. When the doors open again to Bruce’s darkened apartment, he disembarks and makes his way across the floor. He pads down the long hallway to his bedroom.

Nat makes a pleased little noise when he lowers her to the mattress and immediately turns to burrow into the familiar pillows. The bed dips with his weight as he sits on the edge, watching Natasha clutch one of his pillows, a dark spot beginning to form where she’s started to drool on the case. She’s gorgeous. Bruce smiles a wide, cheesy grin that he’s sure she’d make fun of him for if she were awake. At least, he thinks, he doesn’t look even a fraction as lovesick as Steve had earlier. He’d learned early on that Nat gets uncomfortable when he makes the depth of his feelings for her too plain to see. There’s nobody looking now, though, so Bruce indulges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so sorry for this chapter being up so late! Since the last chapter was put up school ended and I started a new job (read: my first job) that has an erratic schedule and long days, so I haven't been sitting down and writing like I ought. Only one chapter left, though! Hopefully I can get that one up soon.
> 
> Both of the movies mentioned are THE BEST so you should watch them just sayin'.
> 
> The song is Can't Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley.


	6. Natasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, the end is finally here. I hope that the +1 chapter doesn't disappoint. I worked hard on it, but sexytimes have never been my strong suit and this is pretty smutty. The rating change and added tags reflect this.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and review if you can! :)

Tony Stark is such a boyfriend stealer. Natasha can barely make sure that Bruce eats two meals a day what with Stark holding him hostage from sun-up ‘til sun-down. She was okay with it when it was just in the name of science, but she’s pretty sure at this point that Stark is aiming to get in her boyfriend’s pants. Why else would he keep Bruce in that lab—away from her—for 32 hours straight? She huffs an annoyed breath and tosses her red hair over her shoulder.

She’s looked in all of Clint’s usual hiding spots, but the archer can’t be found, which means that _someone_ is going to have to step up and listen to her complain about Stark’s boyfriend stealing ways. She makes a decision and boards the elevator down to the boys’ apartment. Bucky’s out, but Steve or Sam should be there to lend an ear.

Natasha checks Steve’s room and finds it empty, but as she walks down the hall to Sam’s room she hears two voices coming through the cracked door over the low strains of a song she doesn’t recognize until she’s almost right outside the door.

_I'm just a bachelor_

_I'm looking for a partner_

_Someone who knows how to ride_

_Without even falling off_

Leave it to Sam to take it upon himself to introduce Steve to the wonders of Ginuwine. Not Nat’s first choice, but good for the right kind of party.

“I’m not even—mm—from this century…and even I know this song is cliché,” she hears a deep voice say. That’s Steve, his words abnormally stilted. She pauses just outside of the door. Sam’s laugh comes right after.

“First of all,” Sam begins, “this song isn’t…from this century either, technically speaking. Second, don’t make me regret all the hard work I put into this mix. Third,” another pause. “Ah, God Steve. _Third_ , don’t act like you’re not into it, because I **know** you are.” Sam shares the same odd speech pattern as Steve, words coming muffled to Natasha’s ears.

Steve sounds sincere when he responds, “Sam, I’m into everything you do.”

“Damn right.”

She chances a peek into the small crack in the door. Steve is lain flat on his back on Sam’s King size bed, the younger man sitting astride his hips. Both men appear to be clad in only their underwear, giving Natasha a wonderful view of Sam’s ass as he leans forward to plant repeated kisses upon Steve’s lips. Which explains the weird pauses and muffled words. His boxer briefs are a deep red that looks delicious against the brown of his skin.

Natasha had suspected they were more than just friends, but she’d never imagined how they would look when they were in the middle of the act. It’s a lot more sensual than she would’ve given them credit for. Maybe she shouldn’t be peeping, but she’s in the process of losing her boyfriend to Tony Stark, so she thinks she’s entitled to a few vicarious thrills before it’s over. And God, but her boys are thrilling. As she looks, Steve sits up on the bed to nip at Sam’s collarbone. She momentarily worries that Steve will spot her in the small space between door and frame, but he’s only got eyes for Sam. The blond’s blue eyes sparkle with amusement, a cheeky grin taking up residence on his face between teasing bites. He’s a lot friskier, more assertive than Nat would have expected, fingertips pressing into Sam’s hips hard enough that she thinks the impressions will leave bruises even on the younger man’s dark skin.

Sam drops his head back, eyes shut as he grinds forward on Steve’s lap. Natasha finds herself subtly rubbing her thighs together as she watches the look on Steve’s face when Sam rocks his hips again and again. He looks hungry in a way Natasha has never seen him, his shiny pink lips parting around deep steadying breaths and his eyebrows furrowed as if he has to concentrate not to come just like that. Steve squeezes his eyes closed and wraps his arms around Sam’s waist, pulls him closer still and begins worrying one of Sam’s nipples with his teeth.

Sam sucks in a stuttered breath and his hips pause momentarily in their grinding rotation as he shudders at the new sensation. “Mnh, yeah baby,” he groans, resuming a slow humping motion. The tempo of his movements slowly picks up until the pace is almost frantic. Natasha watches the muscles in Sam’s back, strong and well defined from hours of flight and combat training, flexing enticingly under his skin with each grinding motion. His flesh glistens with a thin coat of sweat, the sheen dancing nicely as the muscles shift under the skin.

Then Steve tightens his hold on Sam so that the younger man is forced to stop moving and Sam is releasing a low whining sound, trying in vain to keep rubbing himself against the man beneath him. “Shh, you gotta slow down so we can get to the good stuff,” Steve soothes him, getting hands back on his minutely shifting hips. Sam’s making small pleading noises and bending to nuzzle at the side of Steve’s neck, but pale fingers tighten on brown hips, tendons visibly straining so that Natasha knows it must be painful. She’s surprised that Steve would get careless enough, even in passion, to hurt Sam, considers making a noise out in the hall to distract the two when she hears Sam’s hiss of pain. But then the moment passes and he releases Sam. Now-gentle hands run up and down Sam’s flanks soothingly.

“Sorry,” Sam says, to her surprise. “I got a little carried away.”

“I know, it’s okay. You know I’ll always help keep you grounded.”

Sam brushes his fingers across the reddening spots already forming above his hipbone and sighs, his other hand coming up to cup Steve’s cheek. “Yeah, you will,” he agrees breathlessly. “You’re so strong for me, baby.” He presses a kiss to Steve’s waiting lips.

They separate and Steve looks into Sam’s eyes. “Now,” he says, “do you want me to fuck you?”

Sam lets out another whine and jerks his head in a few short nods. “Yes, please,” he responds. Steve gives a double tap to Sam’s thigh, and Sam rises from his lap, gets off the bed to rummage in a bedside table for a bottle—lubricant. He drops the bottle onto the bed beside Steve and begins to climb back onto the mattress on hands and knees before Steve stops him.

“I want you to come back over here,” he says, amused grin twisting his lips, “and ride your pony.” Natasha nearly lets out a groan identical to Sam’s at how terrible that line is, but he gets back off of the bed and goes to stand before Steve at the foot. Steve brings his fingers up to the waistband of Sam’s underpants, fingertips pulling lightly at the elastic as they dip beneath. He places a light kiss against the skin of the younger man’s belly before slowly tugging the carmine fabric downward over the roundness of Sam’s ass. Sam steps out of the boxer-briefs and kicks them away, the movements making his thighs flex nicely. Steve pulls Sam in by the hips, long, ivory fingers creating indentations in the outer curves of Sam’s ample behind. He closes his eyes and nuzzles at Sam’s cock, only the plump, purplish tip of which is visible to her, grazing over the rise of Steve’s cheekbone.

The song has changed now, though neither of the men in the room seems to care at this point. Hell Natasha can hardly spare the attention, but she notices because it is [something softer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zAJsk19LhbY) than the grinding rhythm of the song which had first drawn her in, more fitting to the reverent way that Steve is looking up at Sam, pressing soft kisses to the tip of Sam’s length.

Steve quickly sheds his own shorts, the wet smack of his dick hitting his ownstomach enticing to Natasha’s ears, before bringing a hand down to Sam’s knee, pulling first one, then the other, up onto the bed to bracket his thighs. He slicks the fingers of his left hand with lube and slowly, without hesitation, presses his index finger up and into Sam, giving him a moment to adjust before beginning to work the finger in and out of his hole. Before long, he removes the digit and reapplies until his fingers are dripping with lubricant. He then pushes two fingers into the man above him, scissoring them as he thrusts to stretch him more before inserting a third. Sam’s pressing his hips back for more, releasing these soft whimpering noises that Natasha would never have pictured coming from his mouth. She supposes she should have known he’d be the demonstrative type.

Through it all, Steve’s gazing up at him, gauging his reaction to every thrust of his fingers.

Eventually Steve withdraws his fingers completely and reaches again for the small bottle of lube, this time drizzling the liquid into his palm so that he can coat his cock with a few steady strokes. It’s a beautiful cock, standing full and proud, visible between Sam’s legs. Steve gets a fist at the base and guides it to press between Sam’s cheeks, the red tip resting against the sable pucker of his ass. And then Sam sinks down onto it, first the thick head of it disappearing, followed by the rest of Steve’s considerable length. Watching Sam take it makes Natasha’s insides ache in the best way.

Sam rests for just a moment before rising on his knees and driving himself down again, the impact punching a throaty whine from inside him. The first slap of skin on skin is sharp incongruous with both the gentle song playing in the background and the lovingly possessive look in Steve’s eyes. Sam gets a rhythm going, bounces on Steve’s cock for several paces before grinding his ass in a circle, pulling low moans from the blond.

Steve begins to speak to Sam in a breathless voice, says  “Jesus, Sam, you ride it so good,” and “That’s it, baby. Take what you need,” and “Oh, fuck, you love that cock don’t you?” And Sam does love it, there’s no doubting it from the way he takes all of Steve hungrily, his pace ever increasing as he chases the orgasm Steve staved off minutes before.

When he catches it, rides it over the edge, it’s a shuddering finish, the muscles in his back standing out in beautiful relief as he repeatedly, involuntarily, flexes them, bowed over Steve’s torso. They kiss. It’s not more than a series of sloppy open-mouthed presses of lips while Sam catches his breath.

Steve pulls back, gives Sam two taps to the thigh again, signaling him that he can get off, take a break. But Sam shakes his head, swallows Steve’s whispered “You don’t have to.” And he starts to move again, though he must be sensitive as hell right then, slowly rising on Steve’s unspent dick and dropping back down. He’s the one talking now, as he milks Steve’s cock for his orgasm. “C’mon baby,” he coos getting his fingers in Steve’s hair. “Give it to me, I can take it.”

Steve, to his credit, holds out as long as he can, giving Sam time to get comfortable again before he gets going. But then he wraps his arms tight around Sam’s middle and lifts him up, holds him there as he fucks him. He drives himself as deep as possible, hips pistoning up to smack against the meat of Sam’s thighs. Each of his thrusts drives a ragged, broken moan from Sam's lips. He comes after a series of particularly brutal strokes, buried inside of Sam with his lover’s fingers carding tenderly through his hair.

As they wind down, Natasha silently backs away from the doorway on shaky legs. The song has changed again. It’s with Marvin Gaye’s _Sexual Healing_ in her ears that she turns and makes her way back to the elevator.

When she disembarks on the R&D floor she marches into the lab, heedless of JARVIS’s warnings that volatile chemicals are in use within, and seizes Bruce by the collar of his white lab coat. Stark can sputter complaints all he wants—But Nat we’re so close to a breakthrough! Science!—but she’s going back to her quarters and she’s taking her boyfriend with her. Because she is burning up and a certain doctor needs to work his healing magic on her. Now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Pony by Ginuwine  
> Song 2: Vanish In Our Sleep by Bootsy Collins (and his rubber band)  
> Song 3: Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye
> 
> I'm really into the thought of Steve wanting to take care of Sam, and Sam taking care of him in return. Tell me how I did?


End file.
